


Wet Grass

by AMarguerite



Category: Northanger Abbey - Jane Austen
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:26:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28442388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMarguerite/pseuds/AMarguerite
Summary: Ficlet for ratheralark, who prompted me with, "“Had it not been for the wet grass, none of it would have happened."
Relationships: Catherine Morland/Henry Tilney
Comments: 28
Kudos: 127





	Wet Grass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ratheralark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ratheralark/gifts).



“Had it not been for the wet grass, none of it would have happened,” Catherine said to herself, in preemptive justification for the state of herself and her garments as she sat at the bottom of the slope behind the house. She could perhaps cast blame on her siblings as well, for they loved nothing so well in the world as rolling down the green slope at the back of the house, and in order to get them into dinner she must go to the slope, and the grass was very wet, and when she saw Henry come days early she had run to see if it really was him and— well!

Down the slope she went. 

Henry, to his very great credit, had been very much alarmed to see her tumbling down the slope, but by the time he had dismounted and run to her, all her years of training to be Slope Rolling Champion had their effect. She rolled to a stop rather dirty and blowsy but completely unharmed. Her siblings at the top of the hill all cheered and jeered, according to their dispositions, and Sally, the second eldest daughter, declared that Cathy reigned supreme over this particular contest of skill. 

“I had meant to surprise you, Miss Morland,” said Henry, “but here you surprise me. I hardly know what to say. Very seldom do fair ladies fall at my feet.”

“Roll,” corrected Catherine. 

Henry accepted the correction with smiling good-humor. “A yet rarer occurrence. What is a gentleman to do when a lady rolls to his feet?” 

A lock of hair had escaped its artful arrangement— or what had been an artful arrangement two minutes ago. She blew it out of her face with a little huff. “I did not intend it. The grass was very wet, and so...” 

“And so,” Henry conceded handsomely. “Dear Miss Morland, do you need a hand up?”

“Oh no,” said Catherine. “I am perfectly well, Mr. Tilney! Until I was fifteen, I was undisputed Slope Rolling Champion.” Of course, that had been when she had begun to care about her clothing, and she had discovered how very easily muslin could stain. 

Haunted by the specter of laundry past, Catherine scrambled to her feet and shook out her gown. She attempted to look behind herself and though not terrifically successful in the endeavor, did see the enormous green streak and smatterings of dirt all over her pink muslin, showing how long she’d slid before recalling how to roll. “Oh bother,” said Catherine. “It is partially your fault, you know— we did not expect you until the end of the week. But come into the house—” 

“I think my sudden appearance and that state of your gown might lead your parents to affix the blame on me, true enough,” said Henry, diplomatically. 

Catherine, mind still occupied with the particular degree of wetness of the grass, and the incline of the slope, could not at first understand this— but then she recalled she was quite grown up and grown quite pretty, according to everyone in the village, and she no longer had a clandestine correspondent, but a fiance. 

Catherine blushed. 

Henry did not outright laugh at her reaction, but he was obviously amused by her, and so Catherine stood upon what little dignity remained to her to say, “I should not like you convicted of something you did not do, even though—”

“Even though?” asked Henry, clearly delighted. 

“Never mind,” said Catherine, hastily. She turned to her siblings. “Ha! I won!” 

The younger children, incensed that someone so old had won the title, flung themselves down the slope until they were all streaked green and brown. 

“There,” said Catherine. “Now they shall know it was the wet grass after all.”

“Does your ingenuity know no bounds?” asked Henry. 

Catherine said, with perfect honesty, “I really don’t know. I have yet to find them.”


End file.
